


acquired taste

by thir13enth



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Oral Sex, Post-Crimson Flower, Post-Time Skip, Vaginal Sex, add coffee and cookies, also i definitely wrote this out of order, also they're fucking in rhea's room, and i definitely did not give it a read through before posting so, idk what else you want me to tag, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: It's not quite tea time.
Relationships: Lysithea von Ordelia/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	acquired taste

**Author's Note:**

> as per usual, i get myself into trouble because i have a hard time saying no to challenges and well, this is the product of such: lysithea and hubert written as friends with benefits, and also in archbishop rhea’s room. thanks nena, roxy, sine, and si.

She likes that exactly twelve cookies can balance over Hubert’s stomach.

A pleasant number — divisible by 2, 3, 4, and 6 — a good even number, and more importantly, a sizable serving that would at least put a bit of a dent in her bottomless sugar cravings.

She also likes that he is patient.

Hubert’s talent for tolerating excruciating long periods of wait with no foreseeable award did not go unnoticed to her eyes. He comes as a relief, honestly, compared to other partners that had no capacity to appreciate any form of non-sexual interludes.

They also don’t come bearing sweets as Hubert always does.

Of course, Hubert also happens to be one of the few former classmates she knows from before the revolution, one of the few people that saw Fódlan turn itself inside out alongside her. The two of them remain the few uncoupled people left of her former classmates in Garreg Mach — and likewise, their dreams and ambitions are as equally unshaped and formless.

Now with Fódlan rebuilt under Adrestian Empire’s dismantling of the past hierarchical systems, it suffices to say that House Vestra, and thereby, Hubert, no longer retained responsibility for the Emperor — if that is even what she called herself these days.

Hubert, of course, wanted to follow Edelgard’s steps but the former heir apparent has long since slipped away from the throne for some form of adventure with the former Professor, leaving the administration of her new systems in the capable hands of trusted companions. Without Edelgard’s dreams and visions to work for and to instrument, Hubert had retreated to a quiet life in what was once the Vestra estates.

As for Lysithea? Well, she had never been planning on living this long to begin with — foreseeing nothing beyond her late twenties. She likes to think that the combination of Linhardt’s treatments and Lorenz’s vitamins is really changing things for her, possibly even _curing_ her — but honestly at the moment, with every day she wakes up still alive, she becomes ever more interested in only trying to enjoy her vitality.

And Hubert — well, he is available and within range. And she knew him well enough on the battlefield to be familiar with his strengths and comfortable in his silence. They both used dark magic, so they were inevitably separated in combat, but when it came to the discussion table at the strategy meetings, they were always of the same mind.

Same mind, they are indeed, when they agree to meet at Garreg Mach — not only a good halfway point between them, but also a relatively untouched area of Fódlan these days. The monastery has long been transformed into a historical site, albeit run down and not well maintained. History forgets easily and many people are more than happy to let that specific memory of Fódlan be erased, after all.

Same mind, they are indeed, when they decide that the former Archbishop’s room is the best suited to serve their needs.

Lady Rhea, after all, had the largest bed.

Hubert slowly reaches above his head to take the cup of coffee from the nightstand, taking care not to touch the dusty surface. He lifts his head so that the steaming liquid doesn’t spill over his neck but ever so slightly so that none of the cookies that Lysithea has stacked over him do not fall off him.

The movement does demand a light use of his abdominal muscles however, and indeed, one of the cookies — the lemon wafer one, to be exact — tilted precariously over the prominence of the contracted muscles underneath.

Lysithea watches it with fervent eyes. If Hubert is good, none of the cookies will fall.

And none of them do. Hubert takes a lengthy sip of coffee and replaces the cup back to the nightstand.

But then he coughs, and the explosive force of it — despite how much he tries to repress it — is a pitiless effort.

One, two, three cookies tumble off him. Another cough, and the rest of them, save the butter cookie that latches into a crevice between his muscles, spill over onto the bedsheets.

She frowns. “You couldn’t just _not_ cough, huh?”

“Remind me why again we always have to go through this? I’m starting to think you’re doing this more for the sweets than for the sex.”

She doesn’t answer him, simply collecting the cookies back into her hands to replace them back over his body. At least none of them have broken in half or gotten chipped at the edges. She meticulously realigns the butter cookie back into place.

“Perhaps it’s fitting your house is Ordelia then — given all these _ordeals_ about your sweets.”

She pauses in the middle of her cookie-laying to glare at him. After all this time, Hubert really knows how to push her buttons. He knows she absolutely despises puns. She knows he hates them too, but clearly not enough to keep him from coming up with ones to use against her.

“The more you complain, the longer you’ll have to wait,” Lysithea scoffs.

“You know that threat doesn’t scare me,” Hubert tells her, looking upwards at the ceiling. “I can wait forever.”

Lysithea returns a wry smile. “Yes, but it seems like your body can’t wait much longer,” she says, referring to the bulge under his trousers.

Every time she glances in that direction, she tries not to get distracted by her own surprise of how much… _bigger_ he gets each time she takes another glimpse.

“Mind over matter,” he tells her. He reaches for his coffee again.

“Don’t mess it up again,” she warns him, placing another cookie onto him.

He looks at her, only his black eyes sliding to her direction. “I won’t,” he promises, then taking a sip.

He says it so sincerely, she almost forgives him.

The remaining few cookies stack easily on him — just like the first time around. When finished, she hums to herself in approval and rolls onto her side, propping her head on her hand, simply watching him. She admits this is a nice sight to see: delectable sweets scattered neatly over his ropy muscles, his intense dark eyes just waiting to see what she would do next.

His eyes lock on hers when she meets them again.

“Your turn,” he tells her.

“I know, I know,” she hastily replies.

Unlike Hubert, Lysithea is still fully dressed, down to her stockings. She lifts herself from the bed and methodically removes her clothing, starting from her hair accessories. She tucks them neatly between the layers of her headdress, then pulling off her dress and the remainder of her garments.

All this time, Hubert simply watches her, taking a sip of coffee every now and then. She folds all her clothes neatly, placing them in a stack on top of the table. Taking the hairband around her arm, she pulls back her hair to tie it back into a ponytail — she has always preferred it out of the way — suddenly incredibly self-conscious that she hasn’t shaved in a long time. Her roots are growing in patchy, black in some places more than others.

No matter. This is what she likes about Hubert. That he doesn’t care. He’s good at simply serving her needs and not bothering her about it until they next exchanged letters again, not a single question asked.

Perhaps that what he appreciates about her, as well. For what it is worth, she has absolutely no idea why he continues to agree to meet, nor does she care.

Without another word, she swings her leg over his head, then scoots her knees against his shoulders. His hands follow up the backs of her thighs, situating herself properly over his face. Without another word wasted, he does exactly as she wants, running his tongue steadily over her.

She gives herself a second to adjust and relax to his rhythm. As she settles into it, she lowers her forearms over his chest, eyeing each of the twelve cookies ever so carefully spread over the lower half of his body. She picks up a rectangular, sandwiched-wafers one with raspberry filling, munching down on it in a few chews.

She closes her eyes, letting the sugar and sensations take her to happy places in her mind. His tongue is especially warm — probably from the coffee he had just downed — and the excess heat is doing wonders for her.

She lets out a soft whine, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. She squeezes her breasts, pinching the nipples between her fingers.

She opens her eyes through heavy lids, taking another look at the cookies again and considering the shortbread spiral. She eats that in two bites, licking the crumbs off her finger as she rocks her pelvis back to give her another angle on his face.

He’s doing _such_ a good job.

He stops momentarily, his hands pushing her up. “Is this to your liking at all?” she hears him ask.

She feels her momentum quickly fade. Desperately, she pushes herself back onto him. “I never said it wasn’t,” she retorts, hiding a pant. She distracts herself with another cookie from his stomach — an almond-topped dark chocolate one. “And I can usually get through at least six of these before… you know…”

“Before you get too caught up to eat?” he chuckles, a sharp puff of air over her skin.

“Yes!” she hisses, almost recoiling at his bluntness. She supposes this has more to do with her, however. She doesn’t know why she’s still so dodgy with the language — even when this is easily the fourth or fifth time they’ve fucked.

And eating and fucking have never been separated activities, or at least Hubert never made it that way. It’s his fault really. Even the first time they’d decided to meet up in person, he’d brought sweets from the capital — originally as a gift of friendship, subsequently a catalyst for sex.

Lysithea likes it this way. She doesn’t need Hubert to accompany her for lunch. She can get something to eat on her own and meet him afterwards.

For dessert.

“Really?” he asks, as if in challenge. “You usually get through six of them?”

“Yes,” she replies, shoving the cookie into her mouth, as if in defiance.

At this, Hubert restarts with a whole new momentum, much more hurried and intense. She gasps, surprised by his sudden roughness and _urgency_. It’s a different rhythm than he’s used with her in the past, and she doesn’t know how she feels about it but if for just _once she stops intellectualizing everything_ she knows that this undoubtedly feels amazing.

Her eyes fall closed again, and she props herself steady with her hands on his torso. Breathing open-mouthed, she grinds over him. Mid-moan, she coughs at some cookie crumbs at the back of her throat.

“You know, I keep telling you to at least take a little bit of drink between bites,” he chides.

“Shut up,” she hisses, giving him a glare — but, well, she’s sitting on him so she can’t meet his eyes. She barely finishes cursing him out before he’s back on the job again, fluttering his tongue over her. She feels his thumbs spread her open, the flat of his tongue teasing penetration — which she so desperately _needs_ now.

He reads her body well. As soon as she thinks it, he slips the entire length of a finger inside. She grips his sides, feeling her thighs tighten around his head. Her body gives into gravity and she gradually falls face down onto his body, breathing heavy over his skin. Oh, she is so _close…_

She leaves her body to him. A few cookies fall off him, and she honestly doesn’t fucking care.

When she comes, it feels so much messier than she’s ever come before. She hates to admit it but however he decided to eat her out today absolutely worked.

After one final wave of pleasure washes over her, she exhales, opening her eyes. She rises onto her knees, looking down at the cookies, now strewn over the bed. At this, Hubert picks himself up diligently, replacing cookies from the bedsheets and replacing them onto the tray.

She counts them in in her head. She knows he does this too, subtracting the remaining from the total, and when his eyes meet hers again, she already knows what he’s going to say.

“Only got up five cookies this time around, huh?”

She huffs, taking the plate from him. “I wanted to save some for later,” she says, placing the tray aside. “And actually, I got up to four,” she corrects, motioning to the half-melted chocolate-covered cookie stuck on his skin. It doesn’t help her case, but at least she’s _right_. She peels the cookie off him, its chocolate covering warm from his body heat.

“There’s some on you too,” he says, eyes on the smudge over the top of her right breast.

She nibbles on the cookie, a mental image of Hubert licking the chocolate from her skin flashing through her mind. He must know it too, because his eyes meet hers again, as if offering her the suggestion.

“Take off your pants,” she demands, instead.

He does. As soon as he drops the remainder of his clothing to the floor, she straddles him between her knees. She lifts his chin, then slides the other half of her cookie between his teeth. To this, he blinks, stunned albeit complacent. She gives him a small smile and nods.

She knows he hates sweets.

“Eat,” she commands.

He does. As he chews slowly, she simply watches him, not taking her eyes off his as she crawls back down to sit over his legs, lowering her mouth to his skin. She presses her lips just where the smear of chocolate begins.

She feels him catch his breath just before he swallows. And she likes that — the power of seeing the supposedly unbreakable Hubert just a little edge unbridled.

Turning the attention back to the chocolate, she licks her lips, then rolls her tongue over him. Dedicated, she runs her mouth back and forth over the same spot, sucking his skin to make sure every bit of sweet comes off him.

The way his cock twitches over his stomach does not go unnoticed. She firmly drags a single finger along its length, seeing the muscles in his forearms tense as he subtlety digs his fingers into the bed. She kisses the now-clean spot of his skin before letting her lips follow the same motion of her finger, dragging her tongue from his base to the very top.

From there, she takes him into her mouth, going as far as she can — little more than halfway down his shaft before she feels him nudge the back of her mouth. She bobs her head back and forth at that point, holding her breath and her reflex, letting his tip hit against her.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he sighs, his thighs shifting underneath her. His right hand reaches behind her head, holding the base of her ponytail between his fingers.

Lysithea swallows the little bubble of pride that rises in her chest. Even for as stone-faced and ascetic Hubert is, she can _still_ decipher what makes his mind absolutely crazy.

When she runs out of her breath, she lifts her head up, inhaling quickly. She doesn’t bother wiping her drool, letting it fall over him. Her hands take the extra lubrication and strokes him methodically. Eventually her mouth rejoins her hands, closing her lips tight around his tip and rhythmically following the same beat as her hands as she strokes him.

Her hands make up for whatever difference she can’t take him. He’s _so_ much taller than her. It’s impossible for her to try to fit him in — she’s tried a few times before and completely failed.

But she does know of one way she can take him completely. And as if he’s thinking the same thing, he pulls her hair up — hard enough to lift her mouth off him — and folds his knees up, practically catapulting her body over his torso. He puts his hands on her hips and lifts her body, as she guides his cock over her entrance. Then he jerks his hips up and lets gravity take care of the rest.

She relaxes, settling into a comfortable position over his hips as she completely envelopes him.

Every single time, it still surprises her how easily he fits into her, especially when compared to how big he is at eye level.

Slowly, she places the flat of her feet onto the mattress, shifting into a squat over his body. She leans forward, putting her hands on his chest, as she starts to move, repeatedly lifting and sitting squarely back down on him. The familiar sound of skin on skin is eventually drowned out by her moans.

And perhaps this is the tipping point for Hubert’s drive, because as soon as her pacing slows, he cradles her in his arms and brings her into his chest. He tilts his head in and runs his tongue over her breast — finally taking care of the smear of chocolate on her. Once done, he flips her onto her back, pinning her down onto the mattress, spreading her legs and pulling her knees back against the bed.

He’s strong. So much stronger and bigger than her. He can take her with barely an effort, and she would absolutely let him — giving in completely to his thrusts.

Maybe she’s being a bit of a princess, but she does rather like when Hubert does all the work, expecting her to do nothing more than just take him in return. With the size and the power he has on her, it’s more than easy to just let herself go and completely lose herself in his rhythm.

This is exactly why they work, she thinks. Hubert so very willingly does all the work for her, and she doesn’t mind relinquishing control. And maybe altogether, it’s nice to share pleasantries with someone that doesn’t actually really know her all that well, yet still understands her in a way that only someone that has fought alongside her in war does.

She comes maybe once, twice, maybe a half extra time, before Hubert is spent. He falls back to the mattress, considerate enough to not leave his collapsed limbs all over her body. She turns to him, watching him catch his breath. She combs back his hair from his face, finding the thin layer of sweat over his forehead adorable.

Her eyes catch the line of golden sunlight shining in from the window — much higher than when they first locked the doors behind them.

Sunset already?

She sits up, reaching over to the nightstand to take her plate of cookies again. Looking back at him, she passes him his now-cold cup of coffee — the remaining few drops of it, anyway.

He takes it gratefully, propping himself up onto his elbow.

She munches on a few cookies, ever grateful that her past self saved her some to eat for later. The last time she had eaten these delectable sweets from the capital was the last time she met up with Hubert — and they tasted as amazing as she remembered.

“You’re not going to have any?” she asks him, offering him a checkered-one.

He simply shakes his head, holding up his drink.

“Is the coffee really that good?” She got it imported from Dagda, but it actually wasn’t that expensive to acquire — the demand for it in Fódlan doesn’t make it very hard or costly to acquire. But simply seeing Hubert’s dark eyes light up whenever he sees another bag of the grounds makes it easy to believe it is worth more than its market price.

Hubert offers her his cup, which she takes, tipping it carefully in order to make sure she got the smallest sip possible.

She almost gags. “Ugh, this is maybe the worst thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

Hubert laughs, in the half-maniacal way he usually does. “An acquired taste.” Then he adds, as if an afterthought. “You can add cream and sugar to it if you want a smoother and sweeter taste.”

“Hm,” she replies with the curve of a smirk on her lips. “Not unlike yourself.”

He gives her a look she can’t read, and she returns what she hopes is as equally an incomprehensible expression. She offers him the last cookie on the tray, which he refuses. She eats it as he downs the last of his drink, and once done with their respective snacks, they clean up.

They replace the clothing over their backs, put away the plates and the cups, wipe away the crumbs, smooth the bedsheets over the mattress, and plump the pillows. They close the doors behind them and dismantle the black magic sealed over the door.

As the grand double doors re-appear to the public eye, they bid curt farewells to each other, leaving with nothing but tampered bags of cookies and coffee in their arms and an unspoken agreement to, perhaps eventually, meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, i don't blame you. i have no comment either. lmao.
> 
> well except that i probably could have used my infamous tag to tag this story and it _actually_ would have been appropriate.
> 
> twitter @ napsbeforesleep  
> tumblr @ ahumanintraining


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